Red Tuesdays
by ATwriter123
Summary: Simon spends his final semi-sane minutes thinking of his little Marceline, and one final decision is made. Inspired by ragweed's art on deviantart.


**Hello, trying out this writing thing with my favorite show, Adventure Time! It gets better as it goes onward, so please endure the wordy parts. Enjoy!**

**-0-**

It was a Tuesday.

Simon Petrikov made his way through the wreckage of yet another dead city. This stench of the carrion of his once-great species was overbearing, but he had long since learned how to ignore it. With slow, staggering steps he moved through the city, feeling his body grow colder and colder. His very breath blew glacial winds speeding in front of him and along of his path, assuring his frigid future. The blood was drying.

He had abandoned his heavy backpack (who needs books anyway?), leaving him lighter than lightest, letting the winds easily propel him forward. It was the only direction to go. Backwards just brought hurt, forgotten memories, his princess. Simon had long since forgotten her name, only knowing her status, her beauty, his love, his heartbreak, his regret. It flooded his being with doubts and uncertainties without origin, making him wonder of what might, could, _would never_.

A loud splat tore Simon from his musings, and he halfheartedly turned his head sideways to see a penguin slip on the blood-soaked ground. '_Oh right, you.'_

The penguin had found him by a river, one of the few sources of fresh water he had been able to find after the world went to war. He would have stayed there, but the locals were… less than friendly, to say the least. He had turned around to run away and, rather suddenly, there was a penguin, staring up at him. Even after he had made his escape, the creature had followed him. Simon had never offered it food or anything, so Simon couldn't fathom why it had just appeared and never left, always gazing at him with those large, infuriating eyes. When his brain had been capable of higher cognitive thought, he had contemplated that whether the fact that the melt of the icy poles brought on from the detonation of the many nuclear bombs had made the area around him cold enough to keep penguins comfortable. But now, the penguin was an unwanted mystery who he would freeze if he could find the energy.

But the most peculiar thing about his constant companion was that, unlike the rest of his life, he could not forget about what it was and where it came from. He had once supposed that would be a plus if it wasn't for its unnatural eyes.

A gust of fresh air hit him and he realized he had made it out of the city. Across the wasteland surrounding it Simon could see a sliver of green. Green. He liked that color. It was a familiar, safe thing. But blue was better, and other colors too, but the best was _White_. Pure, immaculate, unblemished, infinite, evil, utter perfection embalmed in the most powerful silence. The sound of snowfall. The sound of the dead and the damned. Which one was he?

Simon began a steady stride to make his way towards the not-the-best-color. Really, green? Who needs it? It's useless. Bad. Stupid. Weak. Really, there's no color worse. Well, except maybe-

-Red.

Red.

Red.

_Marceline._

The name came unbidden from his dim, fading, painful memories. He shooed it away and made sure to relish a bit more in the numbing cold around and inside him. The pain can't affect him now. Ha.

But sadly, it was not the end. A face surfaced in his hazy, oh-so-White mind. A little pale thing, with pointy ears and huge, stupid eyes. He tried to conjure up some sort of negative feeling to throw at it, but none would come. And then it hit him.

A deep, powerful thing. Something similar to White, but very different at the same time. Love. A strong one, one that shook him to his very core. Simon's legs gave out and he collapsed to the ground.

He loved this thing, no, girl. A little girl. 8 years old. Favorite color's red. Loved music. Already beautiful. He wanted the very best for this girl. Protect her. Stay with her forever. Marceline. Marcy. His little Gunter. More beautiful than his princess (no.) More important than the cold (No.) More powerful than silence (NO.) More perfect than White (NO!).

Simon jolted to awareness and saw that there was green stuff beneath him, pressing into his face and nose. Looking up he found that he was in a small meadow of sorts, strangely untouched by the carnage surrounding it. In its center was an old tree with florescent yellow leaves, some occasionally freeing itself from the bunch and abandoning its home for the adventure of the wind blowing around it. Crawling to the base of the tree, he sat cross-legged and tapped his hand against the trunk to the slowing beat of his slowing heartbeat. The Crown slid off his head and tumbled to the ground, rolling a distance away. It didn't matter; its connection to his mind was already unbreakable.

He felt something crawl into his lap. Looking down through the visions and shapes of the things that always hung over his sight he registered something small. '_Marceline…'_ he realized with a jolt and a small smile cracked its way onto his chapped lips.

He cradled the shape to chest and leaned head against the trunk of the tree. Happiness engulfed him. His Gunter was here now, and he would follow her to the ends of the Earth. Never let her go. Not like his princess.

"Sing for me like you used to, won't you Marcy?" he murmured, leaning down to kiss 'her' on the forehead.

"Wenk."

And a child's voice singing a familiar melody echoed sharply through his mind, cutting through the ever-present whispers. Whispers always preaching of ice and snow in the voice of his long-dead princess. The beautiful sound of his Gunter was a refreshing change.

'_Making you way in the world today takes everything you've got…'_

A second passed.

The name Simon Petrikov faded from a now nameless man's memory.

Another moment.

He decided that he would never, ever forget what Marceline was. Music and love.

Another slowing heartbeat.

Icy torrents of silent wind filled with White tore through his neural passages.

His heart stopped.

Maybe the penguin could come along too.

Almost everything left him, gone forever.

His princess would never leave him, true. He would always look for her. Steal her if necessary.

Whispers coexisted with silence.

But now would spend this time thinking of Marcy instead. Her smile, her eyes, her everything.

His cold numbness was broken by a tear forming at the edge of his left eye. A _warm_ tear, he dimly noted.

The dead or the damned didn't matter, for neither had Marcy in their arms right now.

Quiet.

On some Tuesday at some time in the final days of Simon Petrikov, a nameless man's first decision was that the color he loved most was actually red.

**-0—**

**So? What'd you think? This is my very first fanfic (yay), so go easy on me. It was inspired by 'The final days of Simon Petrikov' by ragweed on deviantart, who is an awesome artist and you should go check his/her's art out.**

**Simon is a little OC here, I know, but at this point he's not really Simon or the Ice King, but making a transition between the two, so this is really a bit of a new character. He's also a little meaner in this, but I'm pinning that on the crown's influence. I wish I could of portrayed his forgetfulness of Marcy and the world around him better, but oh well. I watched the leaked episode of 'Simon and Marcy', so you'll probably see elements of that in here. I hope you noticed him not remembering his altered personality with the crown or that he drove Marcy away. He also has a strange relationship with colors, and treats the color white as God. He also loves Marcy a little too much in this fic, but I really wanted to show his strong parental bonds with Marcy trumping his love of Betty, who he obviously loves a lot. So again, OC Simon, I know. You can mentally kick me If you like.**

**Oh, and if anyone says that penguins can't slip on blood cause they're used to liquid environments yadda yadda yadda, I'm flipping you off right now.**


End file.
